Pride: A Dream
by LadyRune
Summary: Based in the Star Wars universe--What happens when a young boy becomes trapped between his desire for revenge and his feelings for the Sith that destroyed his family? **update ch 7**
1. Beginnings

**Disclaimer:**Surprise surprise, but I don't own the whole Force concept, or the Jedi, or the Sith, or any other Lucas items, such as the planet Coruscant. However, all the people are mine, Rytiine is mine. There are about five more parts so they might go up and they might not. 

This is fixed from the original two versions. If no one reviews it, I don't really care. I'll just keep putting up the next installments for my own personal pleasure. 

******

**_"The Devil, the proud spirit, cannot endure to be mocked." - St. Thomas More, 16th Century _**  


  
_Some would say I had failed my cause. I dropped away from civilization almost overnight, disappearing from view without a word. Those who feared me boldly stepped forward in my absence and proclaimed my dissociation, squabbling over one another to ooze into my vacant seat. Others knew better. They understood what they dared not say--it was too much for one being to control. It was a fight I could not win, and so I dropped my weapon in the heat of the battle. It was constant, the pain and sorrow one felt, the rage that came with giving oneself to the dark side. Many died in the process, going crazy and ripping their own limbs from their bodies before the dark side could accomplish the same from the inside. Yet the power hungry ignored these things: the fear that was so synonymous with those lashings that urged one onward, promising no more than the ability to grasp the impossible, the implausible. For that, in essence, was the draw of the dark side. The promise of holding life in the balance, literally in the palm of your hand, and all the inexplicable, intoxicating power that came with it. One could never imagine it until they had it. I did not want these things. So, I left it all, quite simply, and slipped away. _

I was not angry anymore. I was just tired 

I stayed up many nights deliberating over my decision. In the end it came to this--I had lost my will. I decided that I could leave my life, whatever it was, and start again, fresh, untouched. Chartering a ship, I went home, to say my last good-byes to my family, to the ruins of what used to be my father's sprawling estate. Never once looking up, I walked down the broken streets of what used to be a thriving port city, past derelicts groveling in the scrap heaps where sprawling residential towers used to fill the horizon, and finally through wild, open country to the very spot I held my father's body for the last time. Here I knelt, crying out to my father's spirit that I would yet honor him, but now, in pacifism. I scratched a hole in the sun-hardened earth, my fingernails torn from their beds before it was even half finished. My crimson stained fingers pulled my only weapon from my belt, tossing it into the pit, pushing the fill into place, the loose dirt becoming wet with tears. I had never felt so naked and exposed in all my violent existence. As I patted the dirt smooth, I noticed the smallest of saplings by my knee. This had been our orchard. Such a delicate flower, its premature trunk already tinged pink, the multifaceted leaves shaking slightly with my labored breaths. In all this destruction and decay, this, the most rare of plants, had struggled to survive. "Be well, little one," I whispered to it in my native tongue, it sounding as alien to me as my own voice, "and guard my father's memory." It was only as I was boarding the ship, sequestered safely in my own quarters, that I remembered saying those words, so long ago, whispering them to my infant sister as I left her lying beneath the twisted Peco Tree, our prize hybrid, the last time I saw her. Be well, little one. I cried for the second time that night. It was the first time I had felt such a sentiment since I left my father's body lying in a Coruscant alley, and it would be the last. 

  
I should have never decided to try to escape my life. 

  


I remember clearly the day Rune came to us. It hadn't been many years since I had last seen her, but she looked so different, so much older than before. I could have been happy the rest of my life if I had never lain eyes her, if I had never known her name after _that_ day. Yet, my life wouldn't be as it is now. 

It was the day after Twin Solstice. My father and I were helping my mother gather the last of the crops. It always went faster when my brother helped. We would usually finish before the first sun set. He would tell one of his stories from the Academy, and we would all laugh, my father the loudest. We had gotten used to his painful absence. My father never laughed anymore, and there were no stories told, but we still gathered the crops on our small farm. No one discussed the Academy. 

  
They never allowed me to go to the Academy. I was a good 8 standard years younger than my brother, Jal, was, although he started attending when he was old enough to walk. My father taught as a proud Jedi Master and steward of the Jedi library newly located on Rytiine. He had intended for my brother to take his place one day, but my brother had other plans. By the time I was born, Jal had already decided that he would go off planet, to Coruscant, to study swordsmanship with the great Master Dartus. My parents had no say in his decision. In the Academy, one's only true parent is the Force. When the off-world Jedi came to claim me, as well, my father wouldn't allow it, resigning his beloved post, retiring to the tiny vegetable farm we called home as a peasant. They were afraid to lose their last son. I suppose I should be grateful for that decision. 

Then one day, Jal came home. It was nearing my tenth year, and while I had showed propensity in the Force, any use of it on my part received punishment from my father. So I would sneak off for a few hours every day, teaching myself the mystical meditations and battle stances I had stolen from the forbidden books of the Jedi Library. I was in the orchard, practicing sword with a stick, and I knew. I just felt him there, as if he had always been there, and I had somehow been overlooking it. I ran home. My father caught me, surprised, just as Jal walked through the door. He was a man now, not the boy I had seen in the holos. A broad, tanned, smiling man, joking with my father. They seemed so similar: Jal's messy, tow-colored hair mirroring the way my father looked in his Academy days, while I was small and wiry thin with a shock of rusty hair that seemed out of place. 

A sadness hung like a shadow over the joy in the house. Father was laughing, thumping Jal on the back. Mother was in tears. They all had empty smiles on their faces. The ever-present braid tucked behind Jal's ear in the photos was shorn off. I looked up to Jal, beaming. "Are you a Jedi now, big brother?" No answer. They walked around me to dinner, Jal hooking his arm around my neck, leading me to the adjacent room. 

The years went by quickly with Jal in the house. He seemed to light up the room whenever he walked in. He would discuss galactic politics with Father. Mother would always bake cakes for dinner. Even I felt like I had a brother again. He would sneak off with me and teach me swordsmanship in the orchard with my father's saber, honing my Force powers with the patience of a master backed with a touch of urgency. I never understood at that age. 

Once, he convinced my father to allow me to accompany him on a trip to the city to pick up some supplies for the spring thaw. We had stopped for the night, making camp in a small clearing. It was a beautiful, clear night. One of our three moons was full, lighting the meadow with an eerie pink light. Jal cooked food while I set down our sleeping mats. We ate, talking about random gossip, swapping the wine skin between us. I knew this was how it should be, having a brother. It just seemed comfortable. 

After a few hours, Jal pulled me to my feet, struggling with the inertia that threatened to topple him. He winked at me, feigning a lunge with his mimed weapon. I swayed to the side, stumbling backwards from his arms. Simultaneously, we both drew our sabers, tuning them to the lowest setting with a year of practiced instinct. Charging, he swerved away from me, our blades splayed to the side, not even coming close to connecting. Before long, we were engaged in a full battle, attacking and retreating up and down the meadow, matching blows. He cornered me many times, laughing as I fell to the seat of my pants and scurried away from him like a field rodent before flipping to my feet and smoothly parrying, running through the kata I had learned from the books without thought. 

The third moon was low in the sky, and yet we were still sparring, both of us laboring under the intensive workout. Even as I let my attacks become more puerile, Jal was becoming more serious, his attacks coming at twice the speed and power as before, until he finally had me in a defensive position, kneeling beneath his onslaught of overhand attacks. It was then I realized he had tuned his blade to full intensity. As he bore his weight against the clashing sabers, I could sense his blade painfully close to my forehead. I relented, falling to my back as he knocked my saber away from my body, quickly bringing his to my neck. He was breathing hard, red rimming his eyes, as if he was crying. 

"Ash," he choked out, the saber quivering in his grip. "Promise me! Promise me you will take care of Mother and Father as bravely as you fought today. Promise it!" He screamed at me, tears streaming down his cheeks. I was trembling, frantically trying to find a way out. Why did he leave the Academy? 

"I...I promise, Jal." My voice broke. He visibly relaxed, releasing the safety on his saber. The green blade slid away from my neck easily. My jaw ached. I was clenching my teeth. 

"Ok, little brother. Let's...let's get some rest." His shoulders sagged as he walked back towards our camp. A man no more than 20 and he looked as if he had already lived four lifetimes. I followed, but did not sleep much that night. 

We did not speak on our trip home. 

  


_Within our collective, I was known as a shadow operative. While I had no formal master, I answered directly to the Dark Lord of the Sith. It was through his tutelage that I learned to refine my techniques, to survive in a world without Force. To kill on command. I served him unerringly, and without question. I was Rune Novedian, but until I earned the right to my father's name, I became Rune Ariala, in honor of the sister I could not protect. _

After I had become a young woman, I came to find there were two of us. We often worked together, but neither of us much liked sharing praise or assignments. However, some things required interactions. 

Perhaps there was a reason we both had directions to remove the Jedi Master Dartus. I had learned long before not to question the orders. Even before the Sith. 

We carried out our orders, with the exception of one, minor setback. We confronted the Jedi on Carida only to discover that Dartus had an Apprentice. The Jedi Master deserved his reputation, but in the end, he was no match for the two of us. The other wanted to keep the Jedi alive. He_ wanted to know why this one Jedi was so important. Traitorous questions. I dissented, killing Dartus in front of my accomplice as the cowardly Apprentice huddled in the corner, not so much as having drawn his own saber. There was no sorrow in his heart for his fallen Master, who managed to put up an admirable fight. I could feel nothing but fear. It was shameful. Grabbing the young man by the hair, I dragged him to his feet. They were both traitors, in my eyes. They both needed to be eliminated. If I had my way, my colleague would have been soon to follow. _

My accomplice had other ideas, and the Apprentice escaped in the ensuing fight. We refused to work together again, but our Master ordered us to finish our job. Our last assignment together. 

We returned to find the Dark Lord of the Sith dead. 


	2. Realities

**Disclaimer: ** Don't own this stuff, LucasFilms does. 'Cept for the characters and the planets. 

******

I woke in the middle of the night, shaking, grasping for blankets. I was cold, but it was as if the chill had originated inside of me, snaking its way outward, through my blood. There were voices outside, and I crept from my palate, pulling on my tunic as I crawled to the edge of my loft bedroom, peering into the open courtyard below. I saw Jal right away, staring into the darkness. At first, I felt better, knowing that my big brother was there, that he would take care of it. Until I saw his hands. They were trembling. Tears streaked his sun-darkened skin as his lips sought to form words. I followed his eyes to the edge of the clearing. In the starlight, there was a figure clad in dark robes. I heard the faint humming again, what I could only believe was a strange language I had never heard nor encountered in any of my books. I was surprised, as my ears and senses strained to catch all the whispered nuances of this tongue, even as my fear kept me from running to my brother. It was Basic. Only...not. 

I had been so entranced by the language that it took me a while to realize the figure had moved from the cover of the forest boundary. I crawled to a better position, my body so frozen with fear I was amazed that my limbs obeyed my command. 

The whole of the meadow was framed in my view. Jal and the figure silently faced one another, half the small grassland between them. The figure was tall and slender, wrapped in a heavy black cloak that fell from its shoulders at sharp angles. The shadow of the hood covered all but a narrow white sliver of the neck, which seemed all the more severe against the extreme backdrop. I couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman, if it was either. Our two small, crescent moons lit the clearing with stereo effect as the clouds cleared, casting dual shadows upon the ground. 

I was too far away to hear them clearly. Jal spoke haltingly, the words seeming to spill from his mouth without thought, tumbling over one another. The figure motioned back with merely a nod. For a moment, my brother was still. Suddenly, he shook his head with a violent snap, taking a step backwards as he cried out. From the corner of my eye, I could see Father and Mother below me, just inside the door. There were tears in my mother's eyes, but they were as motionless as I was, as if they were afraid to move. Perhaps the same unnamable force that kept me from running to my brother was holding them, too. 

My brother continued to back away, stumbling on roots as he tried vainly to escape. His eyes were wild. The figure matched his steps, keeping the distance between them constant. A gloved hand emerged from within the folds of the cloak, brushing the hood back. I gasped, throwing my hand over my mouth, not daring to make an audible sound. The moonlight reflected pale blue from stark white hair pulled back in a high knot, making the finely honed lines of her face seem almost masculine. I couldn't see details, but it was a woman, unlike any I had seen in the small towns surrounding our farm. A shudder passed through my frame as I realized the chill I had felt earlier emanated from her. It practically surrounded her being, muting the glow from her white skin. "It can't be." Below me, my father whispered with hesitancy as if his words would break the spell holding us all, "A dark sider." 

I had always thought the Jedi killed all of the dark siders long ago. It said so in every book on the subject in the library, that the light had vanquished the evil that had taken control of the galaxy. In my dreams, I imagined fighting these creatures of the dark, the notion I conceived as goodness overwhelming the enemy. In all my dreams, I had never believed they were real. 

The orange flash of Jal's lightsaber brought me out of my reverie. The woman followed suit, the violet beam bathing her face in a ghostly light. My heart caught in my throat. 

  


_"It is no use to resist, Apprentice Na'al," I addressed him from the shadows of the forest covering, approaching his position near the center of the clearing. _

"N-no!" he stammered. 

I stopped, a few hundred steps between us. "Do not make us use your family as leverage. Your brother, perhaps...He is Force sensitive..." 

"You..." his breaths quickened, his hands clutching the air at his sides."You can't...you-I would rather die than let you hurt Ashton!" 

I felt a smile touch my lips as I nodded, accepting his offer. It took the Apprentice a heartbeat to realize the implications of his words. 

He began to back away, his eyes glazed with his impending fate. 

  
When I was still a young girl, I found myself in the dredges of Coruscant, without food, without shelter. I could feel the pulsing hum of the city above me, the people of that never-quiet metropolis continuing with their lives at a dizzying pace. Never once did I feel a thought for those of us living from their refuse, choking on the dirt from their existence. 

I stayed with my father for as long as I could before the vermin of the streets tore me away from his body, eating his flesh as I wailed. I managed to fight them all back, lashing out at the attackers with feral ferocity, tearing out an alien's throat with my own, tiny hands, gouging out another's eyes, snapping a thick, scaled neck. The ones that could got away. 

I saw the way they all looked at me. They were broken, slithering fools, content with their stations in this pit of decay. I was too proud for them, and they tried to kill that. Many times I could not fight them off; I was only a little girl. 

I refused to be beaten down. I was not like them. I was not scum. I would never succumb to my death like a coward. They all lived their pathetic lives waiting to die, their gaze resigned, as if on the inside, they were dead already, and only their eyes told the truth. 

I had seen it many times. It still made me sick. 

  
Perhaps he grew a spine at the last minute. Perhaps he wanted to die with some honor in front of his family. Whatever the reason that coagulated in his disjointed mind, the Apprentice stopped retreating, drawing his saber. 

  


The woman was fast. Before Jal could raise his saber in defense, she was upon him. My brother was barely able to bring the saber above his shoulder to block the attack. He shoved her blade away with a grunt, stumbling backwards. He paused, his saber hanging limply in his fist. From across the meadow, it seemed his eyes sought mine and then, he smiled. 

His knees bent as he crouched into an attack stance, both hands gripping the saber. With a low cry, he lunged at her afresh, blow after blow meeting with a grating crash at her knees, at her shoulders, over her head. Jal was backing her further towards the forest, his shoulders heaving, every strike enunciated by a growling yell. I had never seen him so perfect, so...driven. 

Yet the other blocked each of his attacks effortlessly. It was if she wanted him to attack. I saw an opening. My brother must have seen it too, swinging at her exposed right shoulder with the tip of his blade. I screamed out, "No, Jal! She's le-..." 

He turned his ear towards me as he realized his mistake too late. There was a brilliant flash as the blades met, the clash echoing through the meadow. Suddenly, she forced his back with one hand. A boot snapped up, catching him in the chin. Jal staggered backwards, his stance wavering. The pale woman spun the violet-bladed hilt in her hand. There was something very wrong with her seemingly newfound power. Something with the way she lowered into a stance I had never seen before as the bruised light reflected softly from her dark forearm. 

The woman slashed across his chest, the thin fabric giving way easily, leaving a smoldering gash on his upper torso and across the tops of both shoulders. Jal slumped over, his shoulders rounding under the pain. He ducked just under the next attempt to sever his head at the neck. Before he could stand again, she tried the same attack, this time meeting his saber halfway. I could see him struggle to hold her blade back from his injured shoulder. With her free hand, she punched him in the face. Again, he staggered back, blood flowing freely down his chin from the broken nose. Feebly lifting his saber again to a defense position, he waited for her fourth attack. It never came. 

The Dark Sider had paused, whipping her blade to a guard at her side, the tip just above the ground, following along her straightened leg. Her other hand was still outstretched, as if something had interrupted her. 

Jal's mouth worked silently, his arms trembling. He lowered his saber; one hand shot up to cover his nose, as if he had just realized that he had been hit. Coughing, more blood leaked between his fingers. 

The other nodded slowly, a look of disgust spreading across her passive features. A moment passed. My chest was burning. I had forgotten to breathe. By the time she plunged her blade through my brother's chest, I was already running through the field, crying Jal's name, my arms outstretched. With a jerk, the dark blade slid from his breast, and he slumped to the ground. The woman peered down at his prone form, nudging it with her foot. She looked up in alarm at my approach. A small smile greeted me, then melted into the shadow of the forest, just like she appeared. I stared after her, tears streaming down my face as I stood at the foot of my brother's body. 

  
Mother wept for days afterwards, refusing to leave the side of Jal's bed. Her apron was still stained with his blood from holding his head in her lap as my Father tried to tend my brother's wounds. I knew none of it would do any good. The look in Jal's eyes told me the truth: his brilliant brown eyes wide, mixed with a tinge of blood. 

They insisted on leaving his room as it was, placing his saber on his pillow as if he would come back some day from a long trip. Mother even set his place at the table. 

I promised to never play fight again. I promised my parents that I would forget all that Jedi nonsense. And I kept my promise. I never played again. 

The years went by, and another promise haunted my thoughts: I still remember, Jal. I _will _protect Mother and Father. 

When I trained, I trained to kill. 


	3. Fates

Slowly, everything crept into the normal once more. It was like before, when Jal was still a distant memory against the star-blurred night. It was lifeless. It was trivial. It was lonely.   


Word spreads fast in small places, especially when no one is supposed to know. At first, well wishers wandered onto the farm with small parcels, trying to console my grieving parents. I suppose it gave my mother something to do as she hurried around, making small talk with the neighbor women, readying pots of tea and warming sweet muffins. She continued to speak of Jal as if he were just outside, cutting wood or tending the crops. The women exchanged worried glances but smiled encouragingly once Mother caught their eyes, their faces empty with sentiment.  


Father never did speak of it. He was more silent now that he had ever been, withdrawn mentally and physically as he threw himself back into his studies, emerging for meal times. During the harvest seasons, he immersed himself in the farm. We no longer lingered after work was finished, talking and exchanging stories. My brother was always best at that, anyways, teasing Father with his political rhetoric or whispering stories of his adventures on the far-away world of Coruscant.   


I spent my time deep in training, disappearing as soon as I was no longer needed, eventually not even coming home for dinners. Many nights, I wouldn't even enter through the house, choosing instead to crawl into the loft room from the courtyard side. It seemed appropriate enough. I was grown-up, I reminded myself over and over, ignoring the twinge of pain that stabbed through my heart every time I passed his empty room, void of even his essence. I tried hard to forget the fairytales of what it was to be a Jedi.  


And then one day, the people stopped coming. Perhaps they were tired of Father's silence. Of my cold refusal when the greeted me in town and offered sympathy. Of Mother's forced naiveté. It became nothing more than another fairytale that happened in some other place, far away on some distant planet.   


Father began to talk again, although he avoided politics, and never laughed. Mother stopped talking of Jal in the present tense. But I never forgot. I fostered my notions in my heart, far from Father's knowing look, and from Mother's well-meaning touch. I waited for the day I knew would come, but secretly hoped never would.  
  


It was the last day of harvest. The air was thick and warm like right before a rainstorm. We were all silent as we struggled to pull in the last of the crops before the first sunset, our backs bent from stooping with ancient hand tools. We never had upgraded to agro-droids. Jal enjoyed the physical labor too much. I had been set the task of securing the bundles for processing the next day. When I emerged from the storage house, I saw that Mother had won a small battle of words, rewarded by Father's slight grin beneath the grime of the day. I smiled too despite myself and joined my parents, staring out over the cleared fields.  


Father laid a hand on my shoulder after a comfortable pause, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Confidence rose in me and I managed another smile for his sake. "Go on and help your Mother start the meal, Ashton. I'll gather the rest of the tools." With another squeeze, he sent me back to the house.   
My head was full of questions as I trudged around to the back of the kitchen, wiping my hands on my pants before I gathered a bucket of vegetables Mother had picked just minutes before. Usually, I was permitted to go on my way after the chores were done. But this…it was almost normal, like a real family would operate. Since…since _then_, we had been set apart from normalcy, stinted by our tragic Jedi heritage. Did this mean that Father was moving on? Could I do the same?  


It was with a much lighter mood that I helped Mother around the kitchen. She too seemed to feel the change and was much livelier, shooing me out after I had made a mess of the juice so as to collect my father for dinner.  


What I saw couldn't have been more different than the calm man I had left but minutes earlier. He was staring intently at the end of the field in the paling sunlight, the dusky grey obscuring the figure there. Even if it my breath hadn't caught in my throat and my legs trembled as they fought against my better judgment to run, even if it hadn't been so painfully similar to the last time, I still would have recognized Rune as she strode towards the house, framed in the setting sun.

  
  
_When I say I wanted to leave my life behind, I meant it in whatever form I could manage. It is a very different thing to go from living as if one could die that day, on any day, in any battle, to living as if one were already dead.   
_

_I cut myself off from anything that could sustain me. I refused to contribute to that part of me that longed to return in to the embrace of the Darkness. In denying that which created me, I suppressed that which was myself. I no longer understood my mind's ambitions. I let it lead me where it would, controlling only those urges that were most basic in need. If Fate required something else of me, it would do so without food to restore my body, sleep to restore my mind. I would force Its hand and make it choose.  
_

_There was no surprise when I found myself on Rytiine once more, my body going through the motions as I trudged through briar-thickened forests, emerged to simple, bucolic pastures that quickly gave way to the wilds again. Who was I to guide Fate when It brought be to the edges of cliffs and tumbled my body to the ground below? I would awaken and continue my path, even with my shoulder twisted and swollen, legs badly scraped and bruised, and cuts that would bleed, then heal, then tear open again as the pain teased my sense of division, promising the warmth I was not ready to face. It resolved that I continue.  
_

_Quite suddenly, my journey was complete. Fate no longer pressed me forwards, leaving me instead to bridge the distance over a field of my memories, towards two figures I did not wholly recognize. One, bathed in calm and knowing, as if he had stood in that exact spot for an eternity, waiting for me. The other was no longer the child of my dreams, but a man bristling with a dark desire I had stirred in him, wishing for the sweetness of revenge that I could not give him. It was bitter that Fate had decided this for me, although I welcomed what it promised.   
_

_Without second thought, I accepted._  
  
  
It could have merely been a play of the dusky light, creating shadows that were not truly there, but she seemed so much older than those three years could have afforded. Of course, I had no idea of _their_ life spans, although I had read once that the dark side often fed on the life of its practitioners. For all my lack of experience, I could have accepted that her limping stride was a natural progression from her previous feline grace, the gaunt grey of her flesh easily transgressing from her once ethereal glow. A steady trickle of dark fluid dripped from her loosely balled fist, the source a spreading stain on her shoulder, which was rotated forwards at a disgusting angle in her sleeve. My senses rebelled against my passions and any thoughts I had secretly harbored for revenge at this sad sight, even as she strode towards Father and I as tall as she could manage, her head held high, her eyes determined.   


I spared a glance in my father's direction. He was pointedly watching the other's advance, his expression unreadable, although I could tell he was steeling himself for whatever was to come. Neither of us was armed with much more than archaic farm implements. At best, those were a hundred feet in the opposite direction.   


I was still calculating the time it would take to acquire a weapon when she stopped in front of Father, her hands still hanging by her side. For a moment, their eyes met. It was a horrible silence, punctuated by quick, wheezing breaths that struggled through her mouth, her lips twisted in the palest grimace of pain. She looked like she was smiling. It could have been the way her head was tilted, the dying sun just catching the curve of her cheek and glinting from wayward strands of hair that had escaped the tie at her the base of her neck. Her hair appeared much shorter when it was down, the loose, white locks curling just slightly at her jaw line from where they fell in front of her eyes. Yet her eyes were not those of one appearing so close to death, flashing brilliant green from the hollows of her face. In that moment, I wished that she would turn her impassioned eyes on me, to regard me with the same proud acknowledgement she gave my father. I was close enough to reach out and brush the hair from her face, if it would have warranted the attentions I desired. It was as if I was of no consequence. I was not respected. This was an action between two warriors.   


Anger was not a familiar notion to me. I had long harbored my notions for revenge, but at least that had a direction. It had a promise for an end. But anger is a much broader emotion, and it requires nothing in return. I wanted my anger to be like my revenge, so I gave it a target. Before I realized what I was doing, I had stepped up and backhanded the woman with such force that she was thrown to the ground, shattering her delicate balance of pain and self-awareness. I think I expected her to get up and give me a reason to fight and rid myself of the guilt that had clenched my stomach. Instead, she crawled to her knees with an agonizing slowness, cradling her useless arm against her chest as she bowed her head, revealing the milky skin of her neck. My arm was raised over my head, ready to strike again when I felt it restrained. Father had grabbed my wrist.  


"Ashton! No!" he admonished, edging his body between us after he had dropped my hand. He knelt beside the woman, whispering into her ear. After a pause, she stirred again, tilting her head just enough to the side that I could see her face, her cheek now puffy and becoming swollen. This time, she looked at me and nodded. Then, exhaling sharply, she collapsed to the ground.   
  
  
_I greeted the elder openly, perhaps a little glad that he did not request any exchange, mental or otherwise. Physically, I was in no shape to speak. Blinded as I was, I knew the viscous rattle that clogged my lungs was a sign of punctured tissue. I could barely take breath enough to remain conscious, much less to sustain conversation. Yet this man was no fool, green with inexperience as his dead son was, despite the strong resemblance.   
_

_We laid ourselves open upon meeting, making it plain that neither of us was armed. In his eyes I saw that great Jedi tenant of compassion embodied. 'My sadness is only for my youngest son's pain,' his eyes said. 'As for revenge—have we not had enough death?'   
_

_I never understood Jedi. Their teachings went against every sentient impulse that creates life. I still do not understand them. However, I respect their sense of honor. The elder man would have never attacked an unarmed foe, injured or not.   
_

_But I also respect the purity of anger. It was this respect that brought me to my knees at the hand of the child. If this was what Fate had decided for me, then I was going to die at the hands of a boy with the utmost humility. I bowed my head, waiting for his final strike. It never came.  
_

_I said I never understood Jedi. When the elder knelt so gently at my side, however briefly, a shimmering truth was laid bare. "And now my son has given you a second chance, as well," he whispered. For that moment, I knew compassion. I had never imagined I could die with such a sentiment ringing in my ears. Glancing at the younger man, at the shame that spread over his features with a hot blush as he watched me, gave me the confirmation I needed. Compassion quieted my tumultuous mind, and I released my hold on this world as Fate allowed.  
_

_   
Much later, I remembered it as a curious dream in which I had not really died. An older woman came from the house, wiping her hands on a small towel in such a casual way that I was sure she, too, had been waiting for a particular instant. She stooped over my body, taking her mate's place. Her warm fingers expertly searched my form, although through the dream I could only feel the warmth from her, the gentle insistence of her prodding lost. With the same casual air, she motioned for the two men.  
_

_The younger man called her mother, and asked her if she knew who I was.   
_

_She did. She knew. But she never said as much. She said it was their duty to help visitors.   
_

_Visitor. As if I was natural and this were a regular occurrence that I should be laid in a bed in their house, my dressings removed, my wounds tended. As if I was alive, and I was any other person.  
_

_Compassion is a strange thing. Fate is even stranger._  



	4. Intervenings

_**A.N.:**_ Thanks to my reviewer! It really is great to write something for yourself, only to make something others enjoy (other?). Also, I'm going to take time to dedicate this to the members of EotF, wherever you all may be. Especially Mikey, Matt, and Rebecca...you continue to inspire me long after we've parted respective (rp) ways. 

Oh, and in case it's getting confusing, _italic text_ is Rune's point of view, and regular text is Ashton's. 

******

_I remember sounds and smell first. Hushed shuffling in the hall. Muted laughs from beyond that in other rooms. Quiet murmurs at my side. It was consideration for the dead that they spoke little, giving me silence. Even so, I could still identify them immediately as they filtered in and out, one or more coming to sit. Such a sweet, feminine smell from the woman, like soap and herbs. Even when she left, it lingered in the warmth from the fire. She must have bandaged me and cleaned my wounds. The Elder came frequently with his mate, scented of stiff paper and ink. Always at night, long after the sounds form the rest of the house had halted, the boy appeared. It was warm forest and sweat, light with the musk of adolescents. _

He never spoke during the day, but I often heard his soft footsteps in the hall, much softer even than his mother's were. He would pause during the day, only to have offered encouragement from whoever was in the room. Perhaps he was never satisfied with their diagnoses, for he would come again that night and sit next to my bed. 

One evening, the elder Jedi closed the book he had been reading, placing it at the foot of the low palate as he sat beside it. For a while, I could feel him regard me in his calm manner. Slowly at first, he expanded his awareness like a humid puff of air, carefully and systematically checking my injuries. He lingered longest on my twisted shoulder, tracing the injury with the delicate detachment of a surgeon, testing the bone strength with gentle pushes. When he retreated, I could hear the smile in his voice. "Now, don't speak, don't open your eyes. I know you are awake, but I can understand your reasons for not appearing so. You are very lucky your bones made clean breaks. We had some trouble setting the compound fracture in your shoulder, since it seems it broke in two places, one a previous wound that was partially healed, despite your missing quite a large piece of your collar bone." He stifled a cough, as if this revelation was of particular interest to him. 

When he spoke again, he was more solemn, as if conveying an intimate secret. "You know, he would have killed you, but he didn't. He's a good boy at heart, despite...Pasha and I have come to terms with the past. We understand sacrifices." Another significant pause and he affected the smile a second time. "You are our guest for as long as you decide to stay with us. Take it as you will." With a jostle of the bed, he stood, and the room was silent once more. 

  
Ashton came that night, just as I expected, stealing into the room and quietly depositing himself in the chair to my right. This time, he stayed no more than an hour before he hastily stood, muttering under his breath, "I don't understand why I even do this..." 

"Please," I said as loudly as I could manage, my entreaty coming out as a harsh whisper. "Stay. I enjoy your company." 

I heard his steps pause, this silence so sudden that I immediately realized I should have given him more warning. 

"How did you know?" he breathed, his words rushing together as he stood frozen. 

I blinked slowly, the world fighting for purchase as I attempted to focus unused eyes in the dark room. "I know every night." My speech was halting as I struggled to sit up, ignoring the burning in my chest. 

He rushed to the bedside, grabbing my shoulder in an attempt to steady me. "No, you shouldn't move. You're still very hurt yet." His wide eyes were luminous as he reached his other arm behind me, adjusting the pillow at my back in an unconscious gesture. 

"You smell like leaves," I murmured. "It must still be autumn." 

He blushed, the warmth radiating from his face as he pulled back suddenly, his eyes darting across the bed. "Ah, well...you haven't been...here," he struggled with the wording, "for a fortnight." Just as quickly, he was silent again, lowering his head just enough that his dark hair fell into his face. 

  


I couldn't believe how eagerly I regressed into a giddy teenager, rushing to her aid. I was better than that. This wasn't a friend this was my family's enemy. Jal's enemy. Here I was, blushing at her words and the touch of her bare shoulder above her bandages... 

After Mother had cleaned the wounds and reset the breaks, the tissue surrounding the offending joint had been so badly torn she could only wrap it tightly to Rune's body. It was the only leverage offered to me, so I had grabbed it without thinking. _I hoped it hurt. I hope it still hurts._ She continued watching me once I helped her though, her expression never once changing even after I had released her and lit the single candle over the mantle. The darkness was unsettling, especially with her. 

Sitting slowly in the room's only chair, I refused to look at the wounded woman, hoping she would have to shift to her side to continue watching unmitigated. Instead, she leaned into the pillow, resting her head against the wall where it met the palette bed, her free arm curling almost protectively around her injured one as she looked at the far wall as if lost in thought. In that position, she remained, so still I thought she had fallen asleep again. Almost casually, I attempted to glance her way, only to find her green eyes trained on me with a quiet insistence that made me freeze again, my breath catching. Only this time, I had enough presence of mind to control my abject daze with a snort, even if I couldn't force my eyes from hers. I hated how she had that power over me, to make me into something I didn't want when I fell under her searching gaze. Her verdant eyes were never empty, always bright with something just underneath that made her pale features so eerily expressionless. I could tell right away that my parents were right when they told me she was getting better. Already, the dull grey of her skin was bleeding into the muted white of before, the shadows of her face dimming, as if she were absorbing the light into her being, leaving only the cold around her. The pit of my stomach tightened at this icy aura, leaving me to wonder if her flesh was cold as well, forever surrounded by her chill. Surely she felt it, for it made me tremble. I scowled at her. 

"Stop it," I made myself say. 

Her lips curled into the same enigmatic smile that made me hate her all over again. "Stop what?" 

"That." I turned away, crossing my arms over my chest in mock of her body language. "Stop that. You're looking at me." 

Immediately, the chill subsided, though I could still feel her attentions. My scowl deepened. 

"So if you've been awake this entire time, why didn't you tell us?" 

"Ah," she purred, as if the ice had bled into her voice. I caught the taint of an accent, as if she was more accustomed to speaking something other than Basic. But then, I already knew that. 

"I was aware, but not awake. Self-induced hibernation." And not particularly one for conversation. She was making me talk, I realized, as a way of disarming me. At least, I decided that much. I couldn't accept that I was jabbering on to cover my anxiety or the questions that barraged my thoughts, fighting to be asked. 

As if she read my mind, she added, "You have questions. Please, I owe you at least that much." 

To hide my surprise, I made a noise in the back of my throat as if that were the last thing I wanted to do. "Ok, what's your name?" 

"Rune..." She hesitated, but the smile never left her lips. "Rune Ariala." 

"I'm-" 

"-Ashton Na'al. I know." Her mellifluous voice quieted, and I wasn't sure if I heard her correctly when she said, "I know all about you and your family." 

We sat in silence again, her gaze redirected and vacant. When I dared to glance at her once more, she had bowed her head and closed her eyes, her chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm. The dark warrior had fallen asleep. 

Silently, I stood and tip-toed from the room, extinguishing the candle as I went. Peaceful dreams, Rune, I breathed, even the thought sounding far too loud in my head. 

As I pulled the dividing curtain to and started off towards my own room, a chill breeze graced my spine, and I wrapped my arms around my thin tunic for warmth, mentally cursing the weather. Before I departed, I heard another whisper in my mind, [ Thank you, Ashton. ] 


	5. Interludes

A.N.: This is different than the previous part 5, just because I was sitting in class going, Wow, the next section will be far too short, and this is already far too off topic, hence, the addition to the end, and a name change.

******

How the house seemed so suddenly alive again in the days after Rune first spoke with me! For the first time in years, Mother's laughter filtered through the halls from Jal's room, where our visitor would smile slightly in encouragement at my mother's stories. Mother insisted on removing the woman's bandages, assisting her with bathing, brushing her hair, and whispering and laughing conspiratorially as she mended the other's torn clothes despite Rune's subdued objections. I would ask Mother what she always spoke about with Rune, seldom hiding the hurt that she could never share those things with me. She smiled just like the warrior, patted my head, and replied, "Woman things."

When she could walk again, Mother would assist her to the library adjacent Father's study. For a few hours in the morning, Father would emerge, sitting next to her on the low-slung couch, and read. They wouldn't speak, but often, when Father brought her to the kitchen for lunch, they conveyed a look that could only be had between two that shared complete understanding. 

But then, at night, that was my time, mine only, when my parents were asleep, and we would sit and talk until I alone would end the conversation and go to my room, often finding my way by the first light of dawn. At first, it was hard to speak at all, much less ask her the questions that had always plagued me. I thought her offer was false, just another way to goad me into divulging my weaknesses. Yet she was patient as I found my courage, and soon I was bringing her techniques I had taken from books, having her explain the more vague ideas and philosophies. Sometimes, I would just listen to her talk. Rune was as knowledgeable as any Jedi Master, with the flexibility and diversity I would have never found in the Temple. 

A month passed. Autumn had faded into a mild winter. The pale woman was on the floor, sitting with her back to the fire, the flickering light haloed around her figure, any wounds she might have had all but fine marks against her flesh. I was lying across her bed, staring at the thatched ceiling, my hands clasped behind my head. If I leaned my head back just so, I could have looked into her eyes. I swallowed, and cleared my throat. I wasn't that bold. 

"So, how did you…" I found I couldn't finish my question. Luckily, she felt no such constraints.

"How did I choose my path?" She took a deep breath, the mats rustling just slightly as she shifted from her knees. "Master Na'al asked me the same thing-"

"When did you talk to my father about that?" I rushed out, rising onto my side faster than I comprehended the movement, resting my chin on my palm to look at Rune.

She raised a hand, ending the string of questions that hung in the air before I could put voice to them. "The morning after, many weeks ago. You were sleeping." 

I tried to hide the frown that crossed my features, quickly ducking my head to rest on my outstretched arm. _I had wanted to be the first_. The first to know who she was. I just didn't know it at the time.

Pausing to make sure I had no more questions, she continued. "I told him that I did not choose my path. It chose me. At the time, there was no other option. Sometimes, we are forced into our roles in life, and we have no control over it at all. Would you not agree?"

I nodded mutely, too stunned to say much of anything at all. She felt the same as I did, unable to dictate the exceptions in her life, thrown into something she never agreed to have. I wanted to tell her that I knew exactly how that was, to be gifted but powerless. I wanted to tell her a lot of things, but all that came out was, "Sure."

_He was disappointed that I spoke with the elder first, but I never set out to hide anything from the family. After all, my life was theirs now. It was Ashton's. He had accepted it, and I would hide nothing in my knowledge, as long as he was ready for the answers, as long as he asked. I always let him approach. Eager to learn, yet quick to close himself to me, he was such a wonderful enigma, and I had not been surprised in quite some time._

_"Sure," he answered, hiding his face against the bed. It was so uncharacteristic of me, but I slid forward, leaning next to him against the pallet, watching the auburn hair that fell just over the edge of the blanket in spiky strands. He tensed, then moved his head away just slightly, bringing his hand up to tangle in his hair._

_"When I was very small, I lived far away. No one remembers the planet now, and you would not know it. When my family died, I moved to Coruscant." I sighed, pausing at the memory. "Have you ever been there?"_

_"No," Ashton answered quickly enough._

_"Of course, probably not. There are lower levels, below the surface buildings. Even below the Jedi Temple, there are sewers and streets. People live there, more aliens even than live above, but…" I took a breath, realizing my voice had dropped to a low whisper. "No one should have to live there, especially not alone."_

_He had turned, sometime, to watch me out of the corner of his eye, his hand half covering his face, the rest of his body still leaning away from me. _

_"I was found and trained, and there was no other way that it could have happened. There was no other way to keep my promises."_

_Silence met me, although I never expected a response. Ashton did not turn away, but kept staring at me from over his fingers. _

_"Why?" he murmured after a while, after I had been watching the embers of the fire burn down to the last log. "Why did you kill my brother?"_

_It was an unexpected question. From anyone else, it would have been baited, the last utterance from clenched teeth before an act of revenge. All I felt from the boy was a yearning for truth, a closure. So I told him, as well as I could. After all, some answers, he would never be ready to hear._

_"I was ordered to kill his Master and when the Master, so the Apprentice. It is a liability otherwise; the emotional ties are too strong. Only, Jal escaped, and left the Jedi order, to come here, to Rytiine."_

_He whispered, "Oh." _

_"I think it was important for him to feel he had accomplished something. He defended you until the end."_

_Ashton merely nodded, sitting up. It was the end of the conversation._

_In my life, I had never found myself rambling about my childhood. It was never a topic for discussion or explanation, but I felt oddly compelled to tell the boy. As I watched him leave, his eyes cast to the floor, I could see why Jal would give his life to protect Ashton. He was still so innocent, so naïve as to the outside world. I resolved then that I would do the same. I would never again hurt him or his family. _

I didn't sleep. Not at all. I could only think about what Rune hadn't said, when she spoke to me, her unintentional pauses and stresses more telling than anything, even though I absorbed everything. For some reason, I felt I wanted to hear the same hesitation concerning Jal, as if she had regrets, knowing my family now. I guess I wanted to think it was something horrible my brother had to account for, to make the woman track him down, or maybe something I had missed, like some heroic nature that made him a threat. I'm not sure what I wanted. He left the order after his Master died. Father was never clear on much when it came to the main Temple, but I was sure they would never throw you out because you were too young to fight back. Rune never said he ran, but that's what he did, didn't he? Surely he knew it wasn't the end when he came here? Why did he come, and become my brother again, just to die? How could she speak so matter-of-factly about death, and hold so much pain for her past? She was ordered, and said it so easily, that I had no doubt she completed her acts without question. It certainly wasn't the first time, either. When I saw her, I was going to let her know. I would show her how it hurt me, how I was still angry. How I didn't care that she tried to diffuse my pain by telling me how my brother defended me. It was just a stupid crush anyways, I should hate her. The story about Jal wasn't true. I should hate her.

At first light, I dragged myself from bed and down the loft stairs to the washroom across the hall. When I emerged, still wrapped in the haze of sleeplessness, I heard footsteps from the library and stepped into the hall, to greet my father. Seeing he wasn't alone, I paused.

Rune was smiling, _smiling_ at Father, and his hand was on the shoulder nearest him as they walked in stride, stopping just short of the washroom as I ducked back inside.

"I appreciate your generosity, Master Na'al. It is a hard decision to make, especially given the circumstances," she said softly. Ever since her arrival, she refused to call my father by his first name, insisting on his respectful title.

From my hiding place, I could see Father clap her shoulder and nod. 

"Are you going to tell him?" Rune asked, her smile fading. Father shook his head. "I understand. He has so much on his mind, already." 

She was rolling up the sleeves of her outer tunic, pulling the black fabric away from her scared forearms, although even the worst of those had faded in the past week. I didn't have time to think as she rounded the corner. Panicking, I tried to leave at the same time, before she caught me watching, only to run solidly into her turned shoulder as she ducked under the curtain separating the basins from the hall. I stumbled backwards, dazed. But even that couldn't keep back the heat I could feel rapidly flushing to my face. 

"Oh, I'm, uh," I stammered while she stood in the doorway, one white brow raised at the unexpected meeting in the bathroom, of all places.

There was no anger when she finally said, "You were listening?"

"I, uh." My face could not have gotten any redder as I scratched listlessly behind my ear. "I'm so sorry. I was leaving, and you were coming out of the library, but you looked so happy that I didn't want to interrupt you, so I, uh…" It all came out in a rush before I could control it. 

The woman merely brushed around me, submerging her hands in a half-filled basin and began to wash. There was no way I could ask what they were talking about. No way would I dare try to take advantage of Rune's honesty by asking about her and Father's affairs, even if they were discussing me. I was grown now. I could handle it like an adult.

"You aren't going to leave, are you?" rushed out, my mouth working faster than my mind. Grown-up, indeed.

She shook off her hands, reaching for a towel to dry her arms, and smiled in that disarmingly mysterious way before taking my shoulder, leading me from the bathroom. "Breakfast, Ashton," she breathed, her pale hand squeezing my arm before pushing me gently into the kitchen. I should hate her, but right then, I realized my world would crumble if she ever left me. I had fallen in love.

Two mornings later, Father came to my room and handed me a tightly wrapped package. With tears in my eyes, I clutched the gift to my chest, knowing what such an offering meant, embracing him as he smiled. I was far too old to cry, much less to show such tears of joy in front of Rune as Father led me into the meadow where the female warrior waited. Now, it seemed like it was far too formal a thing for such an informal relationship, but it was my father's way of acceptance. There were no words, not for my joy as I smiled in turn at Father and then the tall woman before me. Mother hugged me, wiping at her own tears as she served dinner at dusk. With a nod from Rune, I slipped away to my bed. Exhausted from the day, I fell asleep quickly, a smile on my face, and my beloved brother's lightsaber still in my hand, knowing when I woke up, it would be so much better. I was going to be a Jedi, and Rune had agreed to be my teacher.

******

_Autumn turned to Winter. The cold melted, and turned to Spring. I had never lived on a planet with seasons. _

_Training was easier after I found that Jal had been teaching Ashton things on the side, with the younger boy supplementing that with pieces he dredged from the library. The first day, he came to my room before dawn, and asked how he would learn swordplay when I had no saber. I smiled then, not feeling the expression in the least, and we began._

_One never starts with a sword in hand. It is absurd, like an infant leaping and running before able to walk on its own. I also never differentiated between Light and Dark techniques. Techniques are just that. They have no orientation. When they are wielded by the user, that is when the difference is made. Ashton never had a problem with that, either. _

_I would not touch a lightsaber, no matter how much Ashton worried over that aspect. The promise haunted me, since I was the one to ask his father to allow the boy to be tutored and apprenticed. To remain faithful to myself, to everything that caused me to leave and be reborn, and yet make the child into something that would not be afraid of what the Universe held. I tried to remain honest, but still I supposed it was too soon for many things. It could have been the scared child in me. I thought he was too young. How hypocritical and selfish. Yet still, I wanted to believe in everything I told myself. I was different. I had changed. I could make Ashton into the person I had wanted to be, the people I had admired so many years ago as I sat in the shadow of the Jedi Temple, small, afraid. Pacifism. Could it really be done? Could I do it? At night, just before I went to sleep, I hated myself immensely._

_I said as much to the elder, that I promised to someone, somewhere, that I would not fight. His wife explained, when he merely nodded, that I would not be fighting, not that way, and that one always needed to know how to defend, even if it was so that one could keep from fighting. I felt better, a little, and taught the teen in the same method my father had taught me. Even if they lacked the charge a training saber could carry, getting hit with wooden swords was quite enough deterrent. He made rapid progress. By the end of the Summer, he was able to keep up with me._

_When his father died, I think I expected him to retreat into himself. He never forgot his brother, though he spoke about the late Apprentice with ease. I knew the Master was sick, told him as much on our first silent visit together in the library. He was expecting it. The illness was swift, but to Ashton's knowledge, unavoidable and, in a sense, natural. So I told him, afterwards. He took it well, nodding gravely, then went outside to practice his katas. _

_I blame myself for thinking that it would go on like that forever. It was stupid and blind of me, living in the peace of that family. I wanted to hide in it to the point of almost encouraging the looks Ashton gave me at first when he thought I had turned away, to the tentative trust he showed near the end. I remembered loyalty and blind devotion, so it was my fault that I had forgotten the crushing blow to have it taken away. _

_Again, it was Autumn, although, without the elder's help at the beginning of the season, the crop was much smaller as we gathered it, though it never dampened the other twos' spirits. If anything, Ashton had gotten closer to his mother, after I told him all she really wanted was someone to understand her. Early in the evening, I left them alone in the kitchen, retreating to the library. _

_Ashton was waiting for me at the door, grinning. He was almost as tall as I was, then; he had grown so much in just two years. His hair was longer, pulled back like his father always kept his, with a pin at the back. Soon, I would not be able to find a reason…_

_"Hey, I have something to show you," he said and grabbed my hand before I could ask what it was, pulling me behind him up the stairs to his room. The boy shoved me to his window just as quickly. "See? Isn't that cool?"_

_In the distance, a storm was approaching just beyond the reach of the forest, a column of clouds extending into the black of the night, blocking the bluish glow of Rytiine's second moon. The larger, first moon loomed high in the sky, the storm threatening to overcome it as well. The third moon was already setting. _

_"They say it's a bad omen, when all three moons are full for a Solstice," Ashton whispered behind me._

_"I think it is beautiful."_

_He took a step towards me, his eyes still turned towards the storm. "So are you, you know, in exactly the same way."_

_I have never been at a loss for words as I was at that moment. Before I could respond, he was grinning, a blush spreading over his cheeks. "Hey, you promised we could spar after dinner, remember?"_

_"I…I did?"_

_He nodded. "What do I get if I win?" He had crouched and raised his hands in an offensive maneuver, striking before he finished the question. Grabbing his wrist before his fist reached my throat, I stepped to the side._

_"You can decide…if you win."_

_We fought for a few minutes and I gained ground steadily before he spoke again in bursts between the punches. "I'm glad…I can trust you…" He blocked a kick with his forearms. "I mean…I feel like you've always… been honest unlike…other people…Am I right?" His weight shifted forward unchecked and I spun under his outstretched arm. The floor shook when he landed, and he frowned._

_"Pay attention, Ashton, and stop talking," I scolded as he pulled himself to his hands and knees. I saw his smirk before the kick, catching his foot between my hands almost too late and twisted to drop him to the ground again. Again, I heard his laughter, the heel of his other foot snapping into my jaw as he pushed himself forwards, landing with his knee on my arm. He smiled, kneeling over me, his hands on my shoulders._

_"Wow. I guess I won," he said without conviction. Like his pulse that beat through his palms where they grasped my shoulders, his breathing was erratic and forced. "I get anything, right?"_

_I tried to turn my head, but I could only just see his chin. "I said you could decide."_

_"Then," he took a deep, determined breath. "I want…"_

_"Hurry up. My hand is going numb."_

_His knee shifted backwards, but that was all. "Rune, I…I want you to stay. Tonight, just tonight. And just…in the room. Please, I don't want to be alone. It feels strange. I feel…anxious, and…"_

_I could hear his mouth moving, but nothing came out._

_"Ashton?"_

_His breathing stopped._

_"Just for tonight."_

_When he leaned down and kissed me, I found I did not have the heart to push him away. _


	6. Reckonings

_**"To be exempt from the passions with which others are tormented, is the only pleasing solitude." – Joseph Addison**_

Rune had given up without a fight, without ever lifting her hand in so much as a threatening gesture. I had expected more out of the proud warrior. They led her up the walkway of the massive freighter, two guards shackling her arms behind her back easily. Already they had stripped her down to the simple, sleeveless tunic she wore beneath her heavy training robes. Jagged scars shone brightly against her pale skin, things she had never discussed. Until that moment, I had never considered how little I truly knew about this woman, my teacher…and…friend. This creature appearing in the night and snatching my brother's soul from us. Or was it the fallen angel that asked for my father to take her life as she had taken so many others before? But my mother's blood was still wet on my hands. I curled my fingers into tight fists, staring at them in disbelief as I saw her life slip through them. You. You fiend. Had you never come into my life, this never would have happened. 

"YOU!" I screamed, blind rage overcoming me as I tore away from the guard that restrained me, tackling the broken woman to the ground, pounding my manacled fists into her back again and again. "You took my family! You took everything from me! And now you abandon me again, you witch!" Tears choked my words as I waited for her to any second throw me off as easily as she had done so many other times. But she merely lay there, taking my beating. They pulled me off her, bringing me roughly to my feet as they hauled her up as well. It was then that her eyes met mine, staring back at me with a sorrow so profound, I had to look away. I am sorry, she said to me without words. I am truly sorry. She turned as they shoved her into the ship. I staggered towards it, wracked with sobs hushed by the roar of the engines. 

"No, damn you! Take me with you! You can't leave me again!" Behind me, the dark man laughed, harshly grabbing me by the shoulder.

"Oh, never fear, my pet. We could never leave Rune's dearest pupil here, alone," he growled softly. "We need you. You will guarantee her will is broken…completely." I could hear Mother cry out as they moved her into another ship. A sharp pain in my mind, and everything became dark.

_I could feel him before I could see him. The tingle at the base of my neck was such a familiar feeling I fought long to forget. Him. I was already sitting up, slowly, the boy stirring restlessly in his sleep beside me. [ My, Rune, are you so eager to replace me that you would take a child into your bed? ] His voice hissed in my mind mockingly as I scanned the room. I slid from the palate, crouching silently in the dim of the early morning. My hand darted instinctively to my belt, only to find my saber absent, only to…[ Yes, dearest Rune, you left Us. Remember? ] Images passed through my consciousness. Viewing myself in third person. Those streets, so familiar…I inhaled sharply through gritted teeth. [ So shocked, Lover? Of course you realized We would have you followed. Or do you think We would actually trust you? ] In my head, a low cackle filtered into reality. My eyes followed the sound to a figure leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over a sable chest. In his hand, dull metal glinted in the moons' light. I stood, a chill slithering through my appendages, despite my heavy robes. _

_ [ I should have finished you off, Eliath. ] The figure's shoulders rose as he chuckled again, tapping the metal cylinder against his arm. _

_[ Oh! Rune…how I missed your spirit. You know, They are getting so old. I was hoping you would be willing to come back. Retake your position. ] _

_[ Never. ] I growled, taking a threatening step towards him. The amusement I had felt from him ceased. Pushing away from the doorframe, he took a step towards me as well. Suddenly, his face was bathed in a hiss of violet light, a blade erupting from the tip of the saber he held in his hand. _

_[ What a wonderful tool. You truly did a good job reconstructing it… ] He rushed me. I had no means of defense, and was forced to the floor beside the bed, the young Ashton still sleeping peacefully. "And how ironic that it will finally kill you," he snarled, pressing the plasma beam dangerously close under my chin, forcing my eyes to meet his. The sudden voice made Ashton stir. In the corner of my vision, he blinked, then slowly woke up, the sight taking a moment to process. He bolted upright, grabbing for his own saber. Eliath grinned, his pale face twisting, his hand steady as it held my saber at my throat. _

_"My replacement is awake," he spat, smiling deviously. Ashton backed up against the wall. The Dark Lord looked back to me, lowering his face close to mine. "My poor Love. You left me for a coward?" Eliath kneeled on my sternum, my breath catching in my lungs. [ Then he shall watch as I break you. Break your precious pride. ] I could see Ashton struggle with the situation, with Eliath's words, knowing the other still conversed with me, yet not being able to hear the exchange as Eliath's black eyes hazed slightly with the concentration required to speak telepathically. I turned my head away from the boy, away from Eliath's penetrating gaze. The Darksider's free hand caught the edge of my robes, pulling them away from my shoulder. His touch on my bare arm was cold, as cold as my own. A shudder escaped, involuntarily. I closed my eyes. Ashton, I thought, I tried to protect you. And I could not. Like my sister. Father. The raven-haired man above me traced the scars, thick as the blade of a lightsaber, crisscrossing my skin. When he smiled again, I could feel his lips move at the base of my jaw. A dull rage struck me, emanating from the base of my spine, stronger than the pressure at my chest, or the burning at my throat. Eliath at the entrance of the temple, black hair plaited down his back, in battle armor, his unusual burgundy blade my last obstacle in the darkened tunnels before I could claim my freedom. Another vision entered my own—the chambers, the tattoo that cut across his chest, as if one of his victim's souls was trying to claw its way through his chest. I clenched my eyes closed, trying to shake the memory. "So you do remember," he purred into my ear, his hand squeezing my shoulder painfully, fingers digging into my flesh, into his scars. I could feel Ashton's confusion, followed by his horror and his fear as a female scream broke the chilling silence. "Then you should also remember, I come well prepared." _

_Eliath raised my saber as Ashton watched, bringing the hilt down on my temple with a moist crack, dizzying me, and he hoisted me to my feet. _

I only woke up a few times while on the ship. The interior was cold, much colder than my home planet. My body ached, my joints stiff and refusing to comply when I tried to move. An energy field of some sort surrounded my tiny prison. I felt sick, like I was missing something. My eyes, my ears, my lungs…they all worked, but they felt incomplete, like they were only working part of the time. So in the minutes or hours between unconsciousness, I thought. That dark man…Rune looked as if she knew him, as if they shared…a familiarity. Is that why she never returned my advances? What if she loved this man? What if she loves him still? Why would she let him dominate her so easily? Who was the woman I had come to know these past two years? 

I found myself in a dark alcove, my wrists bound behind my back, and my arms secured with strange, metal binders. I didn't feel as emptily sick as I did aboard the ship, and could make out a few amenities scattered about the unlit room. Largest of all was a stone door, carved into rough-hewn wall. Within moments, it slid aside, spilling bright light into the recess. The tall, dark man entered, motioning for the pirates to stay outside. The lantern he carried just barely lit his ghostly face, giving it an unholy shine. This he hung on an archaic metal hook jutting from the wall. I struggled to sit, the binders digging painfully through my tunic as I pushed feebly against the bare floor. As I righted myself, I glowered angrily at him. He crouched to my eye level, a grin playing across his lips. From this close, he looked so much like Rune; except, where she had an almost angelic whiteness, this man was dark. His black hair hung in a long plait down his back, falling almost to the studded weapons belt about his waist. He appeared to be the same age, but I had no way of telling if that was merely a trick of the Force. In his pupil-less eyes, I saw an almost sadistic gleam, so different from the anguish in Rune's viridian gaze. The fire I had always admired in her eyes made me turn away from his. His skin was wan and pale, not like the stark whiteness that made Rune so exotic to me. He shared the cut of her chin, the line of her neck that was somehow masculine on him. The cut of his robes was less austere, but still emphasized the power of his broad shoulders. They were both beautiful. Were all these monsters like this? I stopped. What was I thinking? How could I find this creature beautiful? The thoughts seemed like they weren't my own. As if he were listening to my musings, his smile broadened. 

"Yes, little puppet. We are both beautiful killers, the most deadly of foes. But do not fool yourself, child. Our dear Rune is no angel," he purred, the accent I recognized from so many years ago. I gasped, looking back to him in disbelief.

"Surprised your thoughts are not as well guarded as you would like to believe, eh, toy?" He laughed cruelly, expelling hot air on my neck. "I know all of your secrets." His gloved hand grabbed my chin roughly, wrenching my eyes up to meet his. "I know how you feel about her, how you foolishly dream of her returning your love, that you could one day be her equal, her lover," he growled, his fingers tightening over my jaw. Suddenly, he sneered, shoving me backwards harshly as he released his grip. My head hit the wall, a spike of pain flaring at the base of my skull. 

"We know nothing of love. We ARE the Darkside. We live only to feel pain, to feel rage, to kill. Did you think your time with her was a game, little boy?" He raised his voice, the low growl now filling the room in controlled anger. Lunging forward, he planted his hands on either side of my head, making me wince in fear, turning my face as he brought his closer. I couldn't force myself to meet his horrible glare. I expected him to hit me. I expected him to snap my neck between his fingers and be done with me. Instead, I felt the warmth of his cheek against mine. So unlike the icy chill of Rune's skin. His hot breath was ragged in my ear.

"Did you enjoy it? The feeling of power when you were around her? Did you enjoy pretending you were a killer, like us? I know you did. You longed to take life, to try to understand what she felt when she killed your brother, that coward of a Jedi. Did you know he pleaded for his life like a broken pack animal? Yes," he purred, the low hum of his voice stinging my ear. "We were both there, remember? Did she tell you about that night? Did she tell you I killed him, when she could not? She never told you, did she? That I squeezed his life between my hands, his internal organs rupturing without anyone ever seeing? He must have died in horrible agony…"

A sobbing moan escaped my lips, unbidden. I knew what he said was true. I heard it in his voice. I had always blamed Rune, hated her unduly. I had felt something else there, someone else in the meadow. How could I have been so wrong? How could she have not told me?

"Yes, she never mentioned me, did she? Just as she never mentioned all the nights she spent in my arms, after our battles, as my lover. One could say we were very close, young Ashton. We shared many things. You could never make her forget, as I could." I tried to open my eyes, to clear the haze that eclipsed my thoughts. The throbbing at the back of my head increased in intensity as foreign images overrode my own muffled thoughts, each one flashing with the pounding of my heart and matching my quickening pulse. It was Rune. Rune was wearing strange armor. She had blood on one hand. In the other, a violet saber. Fear. She looked…content? No, triumphant. Another flash. Her eyes, the same as his. She enjoyed it. Another place, still looking into Rune's eyes. Was this pain? Anguish? It felt…good. It felt comforting, to be surrounded by so much pain. So much death. Suddenly, my own vision came jarring into sickening clarity. Confusion crept through me, raining doubt.

"She merely pitied you, little doll. Loved you like a weak little pet, a tiny puppet." 

I had tried to be so brave for her, to show her I was like she was. I was nothing but a child, playing adult games. Bitter tears stung my eyes. The man slid his cheek from mine, smearing his skin with wetness. He leaned back, settling on the backs of his heels as he reached out, almost affectionately, touching the tears that fell from my chin. 

"It hurts, no? To know she lied to you, all this time. And to think, you were willing to do anything for her. How does she repay you? By endangering your family, once again…" 

I clenched my eyes, squeezing out more tears. She did betray us again. She promised it would never happen again. She promised I would never have to be afraid. For all I knew, my mother was dead, murdered for Rune's own selfish pride. She never lifted a finger to help us. "I hate her," I whispered harshly, my voice choked with anger.

"Of course you do, my little one. And now, I will help you get your revenge…"


	7. Redemption

**_A.N.: _** Eh, back to the story after the lapse into my one-shot world.  I figure I should clarify, since I forgot to address something at the beginning of the last story.  Chapter 6 (I guess, ff.net isn't working right now, so I can't check to make sure that's the right number) was actually the very first chapter written for this story, and because I liked it, I decided to make it a multi-chapter kind of thing.  Because of that, the chapter jumps around, and Ashton's first section is in reality happening after Rune's.  So, no, it's not a dream, just poorly placed.  Sorry if that was confusing. 

_Eliath always had a flair for the ornate.  His quarters dripped with rich furnishings.  Tapestries from the hands of species long extinct hid polished metal bulkheads.  Exotic animal skins muffled the empty echo of the grating underfoot.  One could almost believe the illusion that we were not on a ship at all, hurtling through space towards imminent servitude.  Almost.  I could still hear the hollow clanging beneath his heavy boots as he paced the room.  Recycled air circulated, washing over my face, the stale waves bringing with them the unmistakable smell of warm circuitry and machine lubricant.  My arms were still bound sorely at the wrist behind me as I lay face down on the overstuffed, burgundy lounger.  I could hear the rustle of fabric passing my head as I counted his restless steps: five down one side of the room, five back, slowly, one after the other._

_He stopped after a while, his body momentarily blocking out the dim light of the cabin from my view.  Suddenly, he grabbed me by the hair, forcing my face to meet his as he pulled me roughly to sitting position._

_"Just how long do you intend to lay there, my dear Rune? We both know you could have snapped those binders a long time ago," he sneered.  I wrenched my head from his grasp._

_"What is your point, Eliath?"  I hissed, my voice lowering. He merely smiled, sliding the table behind him closer as he sat in front of me, trapping my knees between his.  He leaned forward, his hands coming to rest on either side of my legs.  _

_"Oh, Rune…You have no idea how boring it's been here without that obstinate nature of yours," he chuckled, his inky eyes searching my face.  They flicked to the side nervously before settling on mine, his voice lowering to a whisper.  "You can still come back, you know.  Join us again, take your place at my side, like it used to be," he said almost pleadingly, his fingers digging into the soft plush of the couch beside me.  "Never again would we be thrust into the shadows, another taking the credit for our work.  They wouldn't dare defy us-"_

_I looked away, my hands shifting uncomfortably, trapped behind me.  "I came for one thing, and one thing only," I interrupted._

_Eliath paused, staring blankly at me, his words stopping short.  With renewed fury, he slammed his fists onto the settee.  His eyes narrowed.  "Oh yes, your _precious_ family." His face twisted._

_He shoved the table back, the heavy lumber grating across metal as it cut through the fur carpet.  His lips were quivering. "Don't worry, they are both quite intact. Can't hurt my little playing cards, now can I? That just wouldn't be smart."  Eliath was struggling with the murderous look in his eye, as if slitting my throat now would almost be as rewarding as waiting for whatever scheme he spent these long nights brooding over in silence._

_ "Retribution has been suggested, for all the troubles you've caused Us.  We've been nice enough to give you a choice: you can either take one of them back with you, leaving the other here to our…tender mercies, or you agree to a little match We've so graciously arranged with the chance that both may leave."  His hand shot out, clenching around my throat and pulling me to my feet as he stood.  "Of course, until you decide, you'll have pleasure of remaining in my company.  But, don't take too long, love," he pouted, his fingers digging into the flesh of my neck.  "I'd hate to get bored and remove your options."_

Eliath returned when expected, his silhouette shading the blinding light from my tiny cell.  Sometime during the last few hours, he had unbound his hair and changed clothes, his white shirt hanging open.  Obviously unarmed, he seemed more threatening now than before.  It probably had something to do with the tattoo splashed across his chest that seemed to writhe like a mass of insects just beneath his pale skin.  I couldn't take my eyes off of it.

            After our first meeting, he had left me with a promise that I couldn't wait to see fulfilled.  I could feel the anger burning in my face, my hands clenching behind my back.  But as the time passed, my anger seemed more and more unjust, until finally, I had forgotten why Rune's name brought a sour taste to my mouth.  She had nothing to do with my Father's death, certainly, and I had forgiven her a long time ago for anything else.  Once, she explained how she had vowed never to wield a weapon again after I complained about the one-sidedness of our training.  In fact, I was angry at _myself_ for not being fast enough to protect Mother.  I shouldn't have let her take on the burden for taking care of my family, when I was more than capable of doing the same.  

            The man smiled and stepped to the side, gesturing into the hallway.  At first, I thought he would remove the binders from my wrists, but he quickly took the lead, leaving me to stumble after him, blinking in the unnatural light and struggling to hide my face against my shoulder.

            "Terribly sorry about the restraints, little Ashton, but you aren't quite a guest here, you know," he said lightly as we continued down the passage.  It appeared to be cut from the same rock as the cell, although now and then, I could make out the gleaming of metal at the end of shadowy branches that appeared infrequently.  Sometimes, I could make out figures in the gloom, but the too-bright lighting overhead kept me from making out details and reaching out to them left me feeling dizzy and drained.  I thought I heard Eliath's derisive snort of laughter.  

            We rounded a corner and continued up an incline to another metal door like the ones I had seen from a distance.  I was trying not to look at his face or his chest, instead concentrating on the thigh-length mass of black hair as it swayed with his movements, just touching his dark pants.  If I tried hard enough, I could imagine myself with someone else.  Perhaps then I wouldn't be so quick to accept his baiting. With the slight flick of his wrist, what sounded like massive gears grinded, sliding back what I found were arm-thick pinion locks with an echoed click.  The door swung open away from us, and into a small box overlooking rows of honeycombed metal boxes built into the walls surrounding a darkened pit area.  I made a move to enter, but the Dark sider grabbed my arm and yanked me back into the hall.

            "Now Ashton," he cooed again, flicking his hair behind an ear with his free hand while continuing his hold on me with the other.  "You haven't said a word of gratitude this entire time."  His grip tightened.  "After all the trouble I've gone through for _your_ sake, despite all the prosaic little things I've seen.  I was even willing to offer you quite a bargain, but if you are content to let your Mother _die_, well-"

            "My Mother? She's here?"  I perked, raising my eyes from the floor and stepping closer to him that I would have otherwise liked.  "I thought…she was already dead…"

            Eliath's smile was feral as he snaked his other hand around my waist.  "Of course.  I have no reason to kill her.  _She's_ not the one I want, after all.  I'm more than willing to give her up…for a price…"

            "What? What? Anything…"  I was breathless.  I couldn't talk fast enough, to get the promise of her release, ignoring even the beginning of pain that radiated from the base of my skull, slowly radiating down my spine.

            Pulling me into his chest, Eliath leaned his cheek into my ear.  "Rune couldn't wait to get rid of you, you know.  She's the one that suggested that you fight her," he stroked my skin with his breath, practically purring.  "Fight her.  Kill her, and you can go free."

            I was expecting anything but that, really.  Rune had never touched a weapon while she lived with us.  She never so much as struck at me in violence, and our practices were structured so that she only attacked when she was explaining how to defend against certain techniques.  "I…I don't believe…"  The pain cut me off, squeezing at the back of my skull just as Eliath tightened his arms around me.  

            "There's nothing to believe.  She's Ours.  Our tool.  Our weapon.  Ours to control, she always will be.  Never yours.  Do you understand that? All that time, all that wasted time when you thought she was yours, and We were controlling her."  I shook my head, trying feebly to escape his grasp.  "What? Still don't believe?  Then look.  Look at your precious Rune, who never held a weapon against you."

            I continued to resist, continued to struggle in vain, even though my mother's life was in the balance.  Never, the things he said would never happen.  I had to believe that.  But when he placed a hand at my back and pushed me into the open doorway I never saw, tumbling me the short distance into the arena, I knew he was right.

            There was always something missing from the Rune I knew.  Something cut away from the woman that haunted my nightmares to make her the woman that I called Teacher.  That something was in her hand now, glittering cold and hard within her grasp.  It made her larger than life, and terrifyingly real, shattering any dreams I may have harbored, dreams that were still very intangible, despite the one night, the one kiss she never returned.  More terrifying without her robes that hid the tight cords of muscles in her arms, the inhuman paleness of her skin lined with scars she never discussed.  I tried to keep myself from shrinking back, remembering why I was here in the first place.

            "Get up," she whispered harshly, her face as blank as the stone around us.  Her arms hung limply at her side, her brilliant green eyes staring at the sand just shy of my feet, almost hidden by her lose hair.  

            Suddenly, I heard a wail behind me.  Rune flinched, and I knew it was my mother. She was still alive.  There was only one way to save her.  

            I crawled to my feet, the restraints falling open with a click, and she tossed me Jal's lightsaber from where it was tucked into her belt. 

            "Rune Ariala," I heard myself say with a remarkably stable voice.  "I have come to kill you."  


End file.
